Inside the Kitchen: Eight Questions with Michael Cimarusti of Providence

To answer in the broadest way possible, I’d say pasta.

I have a distinct memory of going to a restaurant with my folks when I was a kid. It was one of the better restaurants in the area I grew up in, rural New Jersey, on the border of Pennsylvania. The restaurant was called The Forager House. The chef’s name was Dick Barrows. It was fine dining, white tablecloth, the whole thing. I was already enamored with cooking at that point. I was 12 or 13 years old. The maître d’ took an interest in me because I was talking to him about food in a way most 12 or 13 year olds usually don’t. At the end of the meal, I asked if I could go back into the kitchen and meet the chefs. He said yes, of course, and took me back. It was the early ’80s. All I remember was lots of hair in the kitchen, men with beards and long hair.

I also remember going to fine dining restaurants with my parents or just my father. One in Princeton, New Jersey, for my 12th or 13th birthday. I wasn’t wearing a sport coat, and they made me put one on to eat there. I remember feeling fancy and enjoying the meal. At one of those places, I ate oysters for the first time, an Oysters Rockefeller. It came out on a bowl of rock salt, and I thought, ‘Oh my God, this is so fancy.’ I was a kid, but I loved it.

I also have tons of memories of sitting in my grandmother’s kitchen having her pasta, chowder, and clam cakes. Those meals made a huge impact on me as a kid and made me fall in love with that type of cooking. My New York Italian family had Sunday dinners that started at noon with charcuterie and cheese, then salad, pasta, a roast, then fruit and nuts. The table would be cleared, the adults would play poker, and dinner would end around 8 or 9 at night. You’d have spent the whole day at the table. That really drew me to the kitchen.

To me, fine dining is… there are so many restaurants that serve great food. But the difference between restaurants that serve great food and fine dining is the level of service and the overall experience. It doesn’t necessarily have to mean white tablecloths anymore. But it does mean fine china, silver, stemware, and very hospitable service. To me, it goes hand in hand with comfort and hospitality. That’s the difference between a good restaurant serving really good food and a fine dining restaurant. Fine dining should be all about creature comfort. It should really be an escape. You should leave feeling pampered and like you were the only table in the room.

To keep this restaurant growing and evolving. To make it a place for young chefs to come and train. I enjoy giving people who’ve been here a long time the ability to collaborate on the menu and create. That’s the most important thing I can do now.”

I’m not young, I’m 55. In another 10 or 15 years I won’t be doing this anymore. So now it’s about succession planning and figuring out what happens next within these four walls. My partners and I bought the building about 10 years ago. The question is what happens next. My wife Christina, Donato, and I have invested more than 20 years of our lives here. Several crew members have been with us that long too. The legacy of this place should carry on, maybe with the same people who’ve been here since the beginning taking it into the future.

There are so many. I’d love to get back to Noma in Copenhagen. I’ve eaten at Noma in Mexico and Copenhagen, and Copenhagen is such a special experience. I want to go back to London, there are so many new restaurants there since I was last. I want to go to Hong Kong for the seafood. I want to go to Thailand and hang out with my friend Andy Ricker and eat Thai food in Thailand. I’d like to go back to Korea and spend more time in Seoul.

And of course Japan, I could travel there endlessly. Last time I was there I spent some time in Hokkaido. I’d love to spend much more time there. Kyoto is magical. I’d love to spend a month in Kyoto just eating around. Maybe when I retire I’ll finally do that, just get out, wander, and eat without an itinerary. That’s what I love doing.

For the fish and shellfish we cook, it’s about finding that one perfect spot where the ingredient is just right, and delivering it as close to that moment as possible. That’s what makes food special. Sometimes with all the complicated techniques people use, you trample over that one moment when everything on the dish is absolutely perfect. Seconds matter with seafood. The goal is to find that moment, deliver it to the dining room, and surround the fish or shellfish with just enough to make it sing, not too much. Always with restraint. Hit that mark every time.

Sometimes I think the food’s too simple. But when I taste the fish at that exact right moment, I realize you don’t need to do a lot. Anything more and you lose what the ingredient has to say. It’s about balance. Do enough, then step back and let the ingredients do the work.

Pasta. If I don’t feel 100%, or if I’m cooking for myself, that’s what I make. My wife was recently away with her family in Texas. It was Sunday night, and I was home by myself. Of course I made pasta. One night pasta and then cold pasta the next day for lunch. I love a simple red sauce, maybe with some Italian sausage or braised pork in it, really works for me. I’ve followed Marcella Hazan’s recipe for Bolognese many times. I love to make that, long, slow, all day, babying it along. Then making a nice pasta to go with it. But it could also be something as simple as aglio e olio. I used to make that all the time when we’d get home late and be hungry. Anything really, it’s the perfect canvas for comfort.

This restaurant is now more than ever an assembly of ideas from many people. I’m part of the creative team, but so is our chef de cuisine, Tristan Aitchison. He’s incredibly talented, a musician and visual artist as well as a chef. Danielle Peterson, one of our sous chefs, runs our fermentation program, making koji, garums, fish sauce, and creating new flavors from ingredients that might otherwise be composted. Regina Spiritu, another of our chefs, brings her own perspective to creating dishes.

And our pastry chef, Mac Daniel Dimla—you should do a story on him. As far as I know, we’re the only restaurant in the U.S. running a true bean-to-bar chocolate program. Every gram of chocolate we serve, he makes. He’s endlessly inspiring and creative, with a distinct point of view. He’s only 28 years old. I don’t even know where he’ll be when he’s 40.

The point is, I’m surrounded by a team of people. And of course a huge team of cooks who actually cook the food every day. I feel very fortunate for the team I have. They’re so good at what they do, they make me look really, really good.